by Tom Zola
The men who were working on the defective gearbox immediately stopped and shut their eyes really tight. Timofej blinked and peeked into the village, then he got frightened.
Although the Russian forces were fully illuminated in front of Nikolskoye, the glow of the flare also made visible at least the rough contours of one Soviet AT-gun obviously captured by the fascists. And it was in the middle of the road! Just 350 meters away!
Timofej and his comrades had no time to react. The Germans had coordinated the lighting too well with the crew of the gun. The cannon fired – and its shell shattered a track on Ilyich’s tank. But the fascists followed that up immediately, firing a second time within a few moments. The petrol tank of the precious T-34/85 burst with a loud bang. Flames flared from the hatches, while the hull was ripped open and the men working on the tank were whirled away. At the same moment, the artificial light ball in the sky went out. Total darkness returned and hid the scene from view. Only the blaze of fire that had ignited in Ilyich's tank remained, illuminating a small area around it. It flickered.
Timofej had not yet understood what had happened. He only saw the shapes of his twisting comrades crying in pain, scattered all around the shot-up tank.
Then the cannons of the remaining T-34s spoke, and several HE shells flew into the gloom where that AT-gun was. Timofej could not see the impacts, but he could hear the explosives tearing open the street and the walls of the surrounding buildings. Rock chunks were tossed around by the set free energy. For a moment, the soundscape was dominated by the crash of larger lumps of debris hitting the earth, and by the fine trickle of the small and minute rock particles thrown into the air by the explosions. Timofej's tank had not participated in the short but violent firestorm. His commander wasn't in the vehicle, and nothing was allowed to be done without him ordering it.
After a few seconds, the other tanks stopped firing.
Timofej listened for any sound, but apart from the artillery strikes in the distance, he could not make out anything – no hectic calls in a foreign language, no screams, nothing. Suddenly, however, a call in German rang through the night: "Brennt!"
Timofej didn't know what that meant, and didn't think much about it. But the next moment, something blew up in front of the fascists. A ball of blazes rose exactly where the AT-gun had been, illuminating the surroundings for fractions of a second. Timofej even thought he had recognized the contour of a German steel helmet in one of the windows on the first floor.
But as quickly as the eruption of fire had appeared, it disappeared just as fast. All that remained was a deliberately set fire that enveloped the buildings in the surrounding area and the street in a gruesome yellow-red glisten. Like gravestones, shadows manifested on the walls of the buildings.
Suddenly Timofej recognized the dented shield of the cannon in the middle of the flames. No question about it, that fascist anti-tank gun was going up in flames. Probably a Soviet artillery shell had landed short – or the tank bombardment had delay-ignited some ammunition. Either way, the gun was down and the road was clear. Now was the time to go in!
As ordered, his commander finally returned and swung himself into the tank via the only turret hatch of the T-34. Immediately he sat down behind the main weapon, because in a T-34 the commander served as the gunner at the same time.
"Daweite! Teperj mi ßachwatim eitch fashistich!" he shouted to his crew. Here we go! We'll get the fascists!
Already, everywhere on the plain, Russian tank engines were starting up. The commander explained to Timofej in brief sentences that he should move towards the main road. This would bring the tanks into the village, while the infantry to the left and right would occupy the periphery. Comrade Dimitri’s T-34/85 was to take the lead for the tanks. Then Timofej would come.
With a strong sense of determination in his chest that gave Timofej the confidence to recapture Nikolskoye that night, he grabbed the handle of his driver's hatch and dogged it shut. Now there was only a narrow eye slit that gave him a glimpse into the flickering darkness out there. In the weak white light of the moon, he could just see the outlines of the tank of his buddy Dimitri, who was passing Timofej's tank at that very moment with humming pistons and squeaking tracks as it toiled itself down the street. Timofej immediately recognized the new tank by its mighty rounded turret. He also got his engine started, engaged the clutch, and accelerated. With a jolt, his tank started to move.
Timofej stayed directly behind Dimitri as both pushed past the blazing tank of Ilyich towards the main road. A paramedic had taken care of the wounded comrades there. Timofej saw white gauze bandages shining in the dimness. But Ilyich was certainly dead, because he had been in his tank the whole time.
"Ilyukha, yes ßa tjeba otamshu!" Timofej cried out as he clasped his levers with all his might. I will avenge you, my friend!
Ilyich had been a fine man – another fine man who had fallen victim to the barbarians. Timofej made a mental note to himself – this would be the third fallen comrade, where he planned to visit his family after the war and to tell them about the heroic deeds of their son, their husband, their father. Truly, that was little solace for the bereaved, but the thought that their loved one had helped in achieving that no Russian had to learn German may provide some comfort.
His tank finally reached the paved road. Timofej felt the change in the vibrations that kept shaking his tank. He was also not unaware of the tension that was weighing on the crew at that moment, and he was glad that he was not sitting in the platoon leader’s tank. He not only had to operate the cannon of his combat vehicle and command it at the same time, but also had to keep an eye on the other tanks and give them orders – it was an almost impossible task.
In front of Timofej – and also in front of the leading tank of Comrade Dimitri – the first houses of the village appeared as gloomy sketches. The Russian infantry could neither be seen nor heard, but Timofej knew that it too was penetrating Nikolskoye at this very moment. The background noise was dominated by the engine rumble and squeaking of the tanks, underneath the distant thunder of Russian artillery still firing into the northern outskirt of the village. Timofey did not see a single fascist. Slowly his tank rolled along the road – passing buildings, often ruins. He did not suspect that he had just passed German tank muzzles lying in ambush only a few meters from the road, hidden between the buildings.
The Russian tank unit had by now worked their way through a good part of the main road. Twelve tanks had entered Nikolskoye. Suddenly, small-arms fire flashed in the buildings, but it was aimed at the comrades on foot, not the tanks. The Russian infantry then returned the German greeting. Soon after, close combat broke out. Houses were stormed and evacuated. Fascists made counter-attacks. All of a sudden, another flare rose in the sky. In an instant, the Russian tanks were lit up as in sunlight – but not only that. Also the German tanks, which were lurking everywhere between the ruins and buildings, and whose main gun muzzles – only meters away from the main road – pointed directly at the flanks of the Russian tanks passing by, became visible in the artificial glare. Timofej and his comrades had no chance. With a simultaneous fire attack, the Germans opened up on the Soviet T-34 column on the village's main road. Eleven Russian tanks immediately burst into flames and were shattered into a thousand pieces, but Timofej didn't notice anything anymore.
*
"Press the accelerator and get out of here," Engelmann panted into his throat microphone, while Münster threw himself at the steering levers. Franzi II reared up. Her tank treads ate their way into the ground. The panzer accelerated and pushed out between two buildings onto the main road, where burning Russian T-34s were lined up like a row of ducks until they reached the end of the village. Everywhere now the panzers of 12th Company rolled out of their ambush positions, pushing blazing Russian tank wrecks aside. Bullets from rifles and MGs struck their armored skin, giving off colorful sparks. All around, the infantry of both sides decimated each other in bloody hand-to-hand combat on the outskirts o
f the town. Engelmann ducked back into his cupola as far as he could in order not to offer a target for an enemy sniper, but at the same time wanted to have eyes and ears outside, because the darkness offered the German tankers a clear advantage: A Russian T-34 commander who was unable to drive protruded from his hatch and could therefore only see his surroundings through a narrow vision block. This was already a problem during the day, but at night it turned every trip in the T-34 into a blind flight. German panzer commanders however made excessive use of observing the action through their open hatch. This provided them with a superior overview over the battleground, and since information was nearly everything in modern warfare, this ostensible small difference between German and Soviet conceptions of tank warfighting was crucial. It explained why German tankers were so much more successful than their Russian counterparts.
Münster raced Franzi II down the street towards the open plain before Nikolskoye. The task now was to get out of the urban area as quickly as possible, where every tank was an easy target for enemy foot soldiers.
A frenzy of orders came in over the radio. Stollwerk coordinated his tanks, skillfully leading them out of the village. Meanwhile more T-34s showed up at the end of the road. The two tank formations clashed at the edge of Nikolskoye and shot at each other from close range, but because of the German commanders' much-better visibility, it was a preponderance of Soviet tank wrecks that lined the battlefield after each exchange of armor-piercing shells.
"I hope that was the last one," Engelmann groaned as he rubbed his exhausted eyes. He alone counted about twenty enemy tanks shot to pieces. Meanwhile, the panzers of 12th Company were flying out of the village everywhere and scrambling away over the open plain. One wave of enemy tanks after the other confronted them and was shot up by the Germans.
A T-34 suddenly broke out of the darkness directly in front of Franzi II. It rolled past the Panzer III as a large dark surface only five meters away.
Ivan just can't see us! Engelmann rejoiced inwardly before he gave the order to destroy that tank and then ducked into the turret for his own protection.
Ludwig aimed the cannon at the target and fired the main gun. The shell impacted and hurled the turret of the enemy tank up out of the hull. Engelmann could be truly glad that they were acting under cover of the night. His Panzer III would not have had a chance against a T-34 in daylight and at the usual distance. Now, however, the Russians tank forces were achieving complete annihilation at the hands of a small German battle tank company because they just could not see them.
"25 tanks? They must be kidding us!" Engelmann complained, as the stream of enemy tanks did not fade away.
Finally Stollwerk gasped out the halt command via radio. 12th Company's panzers came to a stop. The captain then instructed his men not to disperse, but to form a closed line of attack. Engelmann dutifully lined up while a few hundred meters to his left, another T-34 was sent packing.
Again a flare raced into the sky – this time from the Russian side. Suddenly it was the tanks of the 12th that were spotlighted in the battle. Engelmann clapped his hands over his face. The brightness hurt his eyes. But then he blinked and peered under his fingers at the battlefront. He was so frightened that he was afraid for a moment that his heart would stop. At a distance of about 500 meters, he recognized the outlines of dozens of T-34s – hard to spot among all the wrecks of past battles. Immediately the Russians began to shoot. The German panzers also opened fire. But Panzer IIIs and IVs with their short gun-barrels did not have much hope at this distance. Shell explosions roared on both sides of the steel front. Panzer Bär of 12th Company got lit up by a hit. Its ammunition load went up, then its fuel tank. For the crew, any help came too late. Another Panzer IV took a hit in the right crawler track. The massive wheels broke off, and the tank tread ripped itself apart.
As fast as the brightness had fallen on the German tanks, just as quickly darkness returned. Stollwerk gave the order to advance at top speed. Now all that could save them was a close combat encounter with the enemy who was now blind again. As the panzers rushed towards their T-34 duelists, the next artificial light-ball was already rising. It shone in the sky like a gigantic star and once again bathed the land in glaring light. The threatening silhouettes of the enemy tanks became visible once more. Engelmann swore he could count over 40 tanks just at first glance. This was madness!
The Russians fired at the approaching Germans. The first tanks burst under shellfire – but no German panzer got destroyed. It was the Russian tanks that were suddenly exploding one by one. Just as the light of the flare died in the sky, Engelmann realized what was going on: the regiment's panzers, which had made their way across the Toplinka River, were stabbing the enemy T-34 formation in the back. The Russians at Nikolskoye did not stand a chance.
North of Bern, Switzerland, June 6th, 1943
There wasn't a soul to be seen far and wide. Taylor looked around stealthily in all directions. He was in the middle of the forest, miles away from any civilization. He had cycled for half the day to reach this point. There was no road through this forest, nor were there any hiking trails. The trees stood sky-high and close together. The dense leaf canopy prevented the light rain that was currently pouring over central Switzerland from penetrating to the forest floor. The firmament was covered with grey clouds, which on this day were as dense as a wall. Although the afternoon had just begun, an unpleasant twilight had the forest firmly under control. The leaves rustled quietly in the light breeze that was blowing through the woods. The trees bent in the wind, cracked, and let individual leaves sail to the ground.
Taylor pulled his coat a little tighter around his neck as the icy fingers of the wind grabbed his limbs. He shivered and jumped from one leg to the other. He carried a woven basket half filled with brown-headed porcini mushrooms. He had bought them on the market, because in the end he didn't have a clue about mushrooms, but he also didn't want to attract attention by collecting all kinds of poisonous fungi. Nevertheless, sometimes Taylor wondered why he bothered himself with all these camouflage measures every time. Out here, he was the only soul within a mile radius – almost.
Slowly a stranger approached from the east. Taylor knew by the way he walked and by his stature that it was a man. He wore a hat pulled down over his face and also carried a basket with him. He trudged ostensibly randomly through the undergrowth, coming closer to Taylor by the minute. The German spy felt his pistol that he had tucked in his pants.
When the stranger had approached to 70 meters, Taylor finally decided that he was his rendezvous. Both nodded in greeting, then the man joined Thomas Taylor and pointed to his own basket, which was also filled with light brown mushrooms.
Taylor's opposite was a man in his late 30s with deep furrows on his face and a wide, bulging mouth. The man straightened his scarf and smiled gently, then he said: "Let's see if we can get enough mushrooms for one pan." Taylor gestured his assent before both of them headed north.
They walked silently next to each other as their eyes inconspicuously searched the area. After several minutes of hush, the stranger, an agent from Stuttgart, took the floor: "One of the two Lucerne policemen succumbed to his gunshot wounds. The other one will probably make it."
Taylor nodded. "Collateral damage … "
"Of course. But you should be aware of what you're threatened with if the Swiss authorities catch you."
"Yes, they'll be delighted, I know ... but I don't think we met about the condition of those two cops?"
Taylor's counterpart needed a moment, then he got to the point: "The landing in Italy is a feint."
Taylor briefly pondered before he signaled to his interlocutor to continue.
"We have information that the Allies are instead planning to land in the Balkans this summer, in Yugoslavia to be precise."
"So Roth slipped me false information? Is that what Stuttgart believes?"
"Unlikely. Fräulein Roth and her superior seem to be badly informed."
"Now what? A
re you pulling me?"
"No. I want you to stay with her for a while. The agency wants to see what else comes up. Her father is interesting."
Taylor nodded, his expression serious. The thing with Yugoslavia was bad news.
"So Balkan, huh?" he asked without expecting an answer. His eyes narrowed as he pressed his lips together. In his mind, a map of southern Europe manifested itself. Because of his photographic memory, he was able to reproduce maps in his mind with incredible accuracy, including hundreds of cities that other Germans certainly didn't even know existed. The coastal towns of Pula, Zadar, and Dubrovnik were marked on his mental map, as were the large cities in the hinterland: Belgrade, Zagreb, and others.
"With that, they can attack our eastern front from behind," Taylor reasoned out. His opposite agreed glumly. "They would cut off our troops in Greece and be right on the doorstep of Bulgaria, Romania, and Hungary," he continued.
"They take three of our allies out of play in one fell swoop. And in the worst case, they roll up the rear echelon of our front right up to the Baltic Sea, and cut off millions of German soldiers from their homeland," the agent from Stuttgart finished the thought.
"That would be the end."
"But that's not gonna happen." Taylor's interlocutor confidently tapped his forehead and grinned. "Because the British have become careless, we have been able to secure important documents. We still have time to react. Von Witzleben is already moving troops from Italy and France to the Balkans. Rommel has handed off his army group and will arrive in Zagreb tomorrow. We'll give them a reception that's really heavy."
"We have to," Taylor interjected. "If the Allies gain a foothold anywhere in Europe, we'll lose the war."
We'll lose the war, his own words echoed in his head.